On “Music City Mayhem” (originally aired 30 Aout 2014),
J.P. Henderson said to the camera, “It’s all about boots on the ground, as they say in the Marines.”
This guy is a tough guy.
Never been in the Marines.
Never been in the Marines.
This guy he was never even in the cub scouts.
Still, one of those small-town tough guys.
Still, one of those small-town tough guys.
Hunter Chambers was acting all tough too. “Been doing this job four months now,” he said, eyes seven-eighths shut.
“Yes okay, technically I’m a temp.”
Ha. Fresh from the killing fields of data entry.
On this episode, set in Tennessee, ANDY, the scion of a Nashville bailbondsmen empire, elected to join Dog and his crowd as they went running and howling after a fleeing fugitive.
He would come to regret that decision.
He would come to regret that decision.
The fugitive, somebody said, his father had once fed a boy to some hogs.
Doesn’t everybody do that in the South though.
At some point in their lives.
At some point in their lives.
Dog made a crack about that but I missed it because there was a guy outside our window with a leafblower.
Another fugitive had his son buried in his back garden.
“Where did you last see somebody buried in a back garden liken that?,” the Cumberland County boys asked Dog with a sort of civic pride.
“Samoa,” Dog grunted back, instinctively, mysteriously.
Like Chinatown.
They were talking reverently about “Mountain Folk” and their unique folkways.
Apparently these secretive and remote people don’t have electricity or rudimentary running water but they are all avid users of Facebook.
I became carried away and I quoted Whitman:
"Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?...
I also say it is good to fail . . . Vivas to those who have failed...")
One character at least gave himself up to the police rather than be taken by Dog. I think this is a way that canny criminals exact an unpleasant metafictional, extratextual revenge on Dog: they sabotage the whole narrative structure of the episode. They "break down the fourth wall" as readers of Deadpool comics never tire of saying. After all the thrill of the chase there is a prosaic addendum where the actual details of the arrest can only be described lamely, retrospectively from a remote location.
Premature ejaculation is our lot.
Premature ejaculation is our lot.
Beth took one of her signature dislikes to this one bounty man, a Southron clownfish with a high flutey voice, a bright red face and copper-coloured hair.
She kept cussing his driving.
She had acquired a pronounced disdain for this man. At one point she said, “Whoever’s in the car in front can’t drive.”
It was obvious she knew who was driving, but the next shot, of the driver's seat in the next car, bore it out: the redfaced guy.
In the midst of the incomprehensible kerfuffle that ensued, the melee that always accompanies an actual arrest situation on the show, somebody could be heard hollering with terrific seriousness, “Man down!”
It was like the Mekong Delta.
Dog’s people heard the words Man down! and went feral. They were like Wolverine when he loses his last vestiges of his noble humanity (that is, every week): bloodthirsty for payback, vowing to "escalate" matters and tazer the fugitive.
Then it turned out that the "man" who was "down", Andy the Tennessee bailbondsman, had run splat into a barbed-wire fence and it had knocked him down and winded him.
“He just got clothes-lined by that barb-wire!” somebody said.
Is clothes-line really a verb now?
That’s one way of putting it I suppose.
Another is that he "clothes-lined" himself.
He ran headlong into a barbed-wire fence!
